


islands in the stream

by bleuboxes



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drinking, F/M, Friends to Lovers, LOTS of country music refrences, Pining, This is a: the band goes country au, i couldnt stop thinking about home is where my horse is and it got... away from me. im not sorry, in this house we love and respect dolly parton, julie is incredible who's surprised not me, luke be like: head empty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:54:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27585710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleuboxes/pseuds/bleuboxes
Summary: In the light of the screen stands the most beautiful girl Luke’s ever seen  –  her face is alight – clearly happy, and she holds herself with a grace and poise that commands the attention of the room, like he can’t look away from her and her pretty blush blue dress. He gulps, and somehow Luke knows – even before she opens her mouth, that she’s going to be good.Or: Julie Molina, country-pop star, helps Sunset Curve dip their toe in the country arena.
Relationships: Alex/Willie (Julie and The Phantoms), Julie Molina/Luke Patterson, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 72
Kudos: 332





	islands in the stream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fallingthroughspacex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingthroughspacex/gifts).



> i have. no words for this. truly. 
> 
> thank you to lai for letting me yell about wanting to write a country western au, which DIDN'T happen, but still might - and then steering me in this direction, where the band goes country. there's no excuse. 
> 
> thank u to quinn, as well, for egging me on and helping me realize luke's himbo potential. ur suggestions were crucial to the development of this. 
> 
> this was the most fun i've had writing a fic in a LONG time, and honestly? its basically crack but its fun. I _love_ old country music, and quarantine has forced me to try new things -- hence why this goes in the direction that it does. I'll link references/playlists and shit at the bottom if ur interested in seeing where the musical inspo came from.
> 
> ngl, first scene MIGHT be inspired by that vid kenny took of jeremy and charlie arm wrestling... i can neither confirm nor deny that. 
> 
> the rating is honestly, more like a hard T, but i wanted to play it safe. also pls pardon all errors!! 
> 
> title comes from the song of the same name by angel olsen!

It starts with a night in.

Luke thinks they’re not quite drunk but getting there (Alex politely disagrees – they’re _decently_ drunk and maybe a little high), and as usual, when it gets to this point in the night – where it’s nearing three a.m., and they’re just fucking around, projecting about what the future holds – Reggie brings up the country idea again.

“I’m just saying,” he begins, “now would be the time – especially since the label wants us to switch up our sound a little bit.”

Luke grumbles – _maybe_ Flynn gave them an ultimatum: try something new, get some more attention or else. But Luke’s never really been into music for the acclaim –

Well. That’s not _completely_ true. It is nice to get recognized for how talented Sunset Curve is, but they have a sound – they’ve weeded out what doesn’t fit and they're sitting comfortable, high on the charts with popular and critical acclaim. He’s not sure what more they could want, really.

But Flynn says they're falling stagnant, and if they don’t find something experimental, or new, or different with their sound, they’re going to be risking it all – and, as she so eloquently put it, “that would be a shame, because you guys are _actually_ good.”

Just goes to show that the industry is, in fact, filled with phonies.

Regardless, Reggie’s taken up his age-old idea that they should dabble in country.

Not that there’s anything wrong with country music, it’s just – Luke feels like there’s more to life than beer, trucks, and girls – not much more, mind you, but he likes the depth of lyrics that their pop-punk songs allow; he likes that he can mirror what he’s feeling with a wailing guitar, Alex’s strong drums, or a killer baseline from Reggie.

He likes their sound. He doesn’t want to change.

“We are _not_ going country.”

“Alex said we could try one song.”

“I said _no such thing,”_ Alex says, sitting up with hands up in surrender, “and I don’t want to get involved.”

“’Home Is Where My Horse Is’ is a hit in the making, and you know it,” Reggie states. Luke rolls his eyes.

“C’mon,” Reggie pleads, “It could be fun. Maybe we could wear cowboy hats or something? I feel like I’d look good in a cowboy hat.”

“ _Dude_ –”

They go back and forth for a little while – Luke makes a pitiful argument against, and Reggie makes a pitiful argument for – finally, Alex must be fed up with their bickering, as he purposes they duel.

“I think that’s only legal in, like, Jersey,” Luke says.

“I am so close,” Alex says, “to committing murder. Do not test me.”

“Yeah, Luke,” Reggie teases, “Don’t test Alex.” Alex throws Reggie an icy glare, and Luke struggles to contain his laughter.

“Arm wrestle,” Alex proposes, “or something. I don’t care. Winner decides if we try country.”

“Can we get that in writing,” Reggie asks. Alex nods, then runs to his room to grab a pad of paper.

If Luke was wearing sleeves, this is where he supposes he’d roll them up. Instead, he smiles wickedly at Reggie, pushes a stray lock of hair out of his face, then stands up to help him clear off the coffee table in the middle of the sitting room.

Reggie and Luke are across from each other now, elbows placed intricately, and smiles sit in self-assured manners on their faces. Alex comes rushing back in, then sits down in the middle, eyeing their hands with a careful eye of a referee.

“Just letting you know – this is a one and done; I’m fucking tired.”

“Sounds good, boss,” Luke agrees – because, well, no offense to Reggie – Luke’s a little stronger, and there’s a reason why all those girls on twitter are always yelling about his arms.

Alex signals for them to start – and Luke’s confident he’s going to beat Reggie. Maybe it’s the cockiness, or maybe Reggie’s been working out in his free time, but it is not as easy as Luke had anticipated. He almost has him once, then twice, but the third time is, unfortunately, not the charm.

Luke’s arm hits the table with a resounding and definite thud. Luke’s stunned, really – and Reggie appears to be too – a wide grin erupts on his face as Alex writes something down.

_Goddammit._

“Yee haw, motherfucker,” Reggie says, standing up, walking over to Luke and giving him a nice pat on the back, “We’re going country.”

_Fuck._

* * *

Luke sleeps till about two the next day. He wakes peacefully, rays of light gently pour into his bedroom onto the space right next to where his head lies on his pillow. He sits up with a yawn, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

It’s peaceful – all he needs is a cup of coffee, a shirt that doesn’t smell of yesterday's sweat, and a little song, and this could be it, he thinks –

And then – there's a crash from the kitchen; Alex talks loudly into the phone, and Luke’s curiosity gets the better of him. He gets up, hastily puts on a pair of pants from the floor, and makes his way to the kitchen, where he finds Reggie trying to tune a banjo (where he got the banjo, Luke doesn’t want to know), and Alex on the phone with someone – talking loudly.

“ – yeah, we decided last night.”

Pause.

“Yes; I know he wasn’t on board originally,” he leans against the counter, “Yeah, Flynn, it’s definitely unexpected but -"

Another pause: Reggie looks up at Alex, then to Luke.

“Oh really? Yeah. We’d love that actually.”

He grabs a spare notebook and uncaps a nearby pen with his teeth before jotting something down, “Uhhuh. Yeah, Friday works.”

He smiles, “See you then.”

The phone call ends.

“Well, it’s official,” Alex says. Luke suddenly feels his stomach drop, “We’re going country; Flynn’s set us up to work with one of the new country-pop artists they’ve signed. She sounded excited so – this could be good, I think.”

Reggie looks thrilled, and Luke thinks that’s fine, really. But then they look over in his direction, and their faces fall. He feels bad – this could be an opportunity to expand their sound. Even if they don’t stick with it, it’s a way of growing musically. Crossing genres _can_ be kind of cool – but he’s got to stick with his guns here – and stick to what he likes.

And he doesn’t like country.

“Whatever,” he says, breathy. He grabs an orange from the counter, then heads back to his room, hoping that the afternoon light will still be as calming as it was when he woke up.

It’s not the same - fading below the sill, leaving him in the weird light of mid-afternoon; the in-between, the uncertain.

* * *

Luke spends his spare time writing. When he's not in the studio with the guys, working little things out, he’s sitting on benches, hitting the library, drinking shitty, expensive coffee in a nice little café because it has a creative atmosphere and the barista always slips him a piece of banana bread. Sometimes he gets recognized, but most of the time, people just go about their days.

He’s trying to write, really, but this upcoming venture into the country scene has him nervous – he’s never been uninspired to write before. What’s he going to write about? How much he loves his truck? He doesn’t have a truck. How much he loves beer? He’s never liked beer – why drink bread when you can eat it. He’s not disgustingly patriotic, and he’s not super into objectifying women in his songs, especially when using metaphors that are bland or over used.

(When Alex says he might be stereotyping an entire genre, Luke glares at him: “it’s not a stereotype for nothing,” he mutters. Alex just shakes his head.

“I’m saying that Willie likes country, and if Willie likes it, it cant all be bad.”

“Dude, you’re obligated to say your boyfriend has good taste.”

“Well, yes. But also he does, so I’m not lying or anything.”)

* * *

Friday comes, and well. It’s not great.

It starts with a call from his mom, bright and early, which puts him in a sour mood.

It’s not like he and his mom are on terrible terms anymore – they get along for the most part. She’s more understanding now, more proud of her son. And he kind of understands why she was so disappointed when he decided to not go to college; navigating the music industry was not easy, and while the guys were having a blast doing what they loved in the beginning, they know they’re some of the lucky ones.

Sometimes he thinks it might have been easier to be an engineer, like his parents had wanted.

And then he remembers he literally doesn’t remember how to do basic math on a good day, and decides maybe he made the right choice.

Regardless, the call from his mother leaves him in a sour mood – she was asking about if he’d be in town for the upcoming holiday, and he responded that he really wasn’t sure what his schedule was right now, as it’s been changing pretty much at the drop of hat. And now she’s pissed that he’s ditching them, and it’s, like, a whole thing that will get resolved pretty simply, but still.

All morning, Reggie is gloating, and Alex is with Willie, so he’s not there to tell Luke to not rip Reggie’s throat out or to tell Reggie to stop egging Luke on. But Reggie has somewhere to go, so for a while, it’s just Luke left in the apartment, counting down the time until he has to go to the studio to talk about fucking country music that his heart isn’t even in.

It’s bullshit; it’s got him feeling like a sellout, and they’re really only just getting started.

He considers blowing off going to the studio and just going around town, but he decides it’s not worth Flynn skinning him alive, and he thinks he would feel a little bad about treating some random stranger like that – even if she is going to be helping them go through with this stupid ass country idea. 

He sighs, rubbing his hand down his face; he doesn’t want to do this, but he refuses to be the asshole here. He decides to take a shower, and to try to calm down. It’s fine. It’s just a day in the studio with any other artist. It’s fine.

It’s gonna be fine.

Except he’s running late, and there’s a shit ton of traffic that he didn’t account for, and he left his phone on the kitchen counter, so there’s no way of letting the guys know where he is.

There goes not being murdered by Flynn. There goes making a good impression with the new girl. He’s pretty sure Reggie and Alex expected this from him, which makes him feel shittier, honestly. So, when traffic lets up, he risks multiple speeding tickets to get there and parks like he’s newly sixteen and just got his license; he’s running an hour late and on pure adrenaline.

He sprints in the door, and on his way nearly plows over some girl on her way out.

“Sorry!" He shouts over his shoulder, truly meaning it.

“Whatever,” she says, not bothering to look back at him, and continues storming her way out.

When he gets to the room, he’s in a sweat and met with the angry glances of Flynn, Alex, and Reggie.

“Where the fuck were you?” Flynn asks, calmly. Luke gulps, then launches into his story, which sounds pathetic, really. If it weren’t for the fact that he sprinted in here and was out of breath, they probably wouldn’t have believed him.

“Where’s –"

“Julie Molina?” Reggie supplies, “She left, like, right before you came in.”

“She’s really nice, and, like, _super_ talented,” Alex says

“Also, super pissed that you weren’t here.”

“Great,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

“It probably didn’t help that Reggie kept mentioning how unenthusiastic you were about this whole thing,” Alex said.

“Awesome.”

“Or that Alex said you’re probably blowing us off.”

“Nice,” Luke says, sarcastically, “Now she hates me.”

“Listen,” Flynn says, “She agreed to come back and work with you on Tuesday. So don’t worry too much. Just. Think up a really, really big sweeping apology. I’ve known Julie for a long time and there’s nothing she hates more than being blown off – even if it wasn’t intentional.”

She looks like she’s about to say more, but then her phone rings; she checks the screen, “Sorry, I’ve got to take this.”

She leaves the room. Luke and the guys sit in silence for a moment among the equipment.

“I feel like such an asshole,” Luke says.

“Well. You are one.”

“Albeit – an unintentional one.”

“Thanks, Alex.”

It’s quiet again for a moment –

“What did you guys talk about.”

And then they fill him in – sound ideas, song ideas, little tidbits about Julie – actually, it’s a lot about how Julie has the most incredible voice, really good lyrical ideas, and like, all this other stuff.

Luke’s pissed he was late; he tries not to dwell on it.

Reggie mentions a song idea they had been discussing, and they spend some time working on that. Time passes quickly; there’s a lot of brainstorming, and it's different, but Luke’s kind of into it.

Even if it is country.

* * *

Luke gives Reggie a ride home, this time with a lot less traffic and less misery, which is nice. They pick up Chinese takeout on the way home, and when they get back, they gather around the counter and eat in relative silence.

Alex comes home a little later, Willie in tow, and announces that they will be going out to a little karaoke bar later tonight, and that Reggie and Luke are more than welcome to join them.

Luke supposes he could sit in his room and wallow all night, but getting drunk and watching Alex do a bad rendition of a Britney Spears song in a room full of strangers could be more fun than that.

“I’m in.”

“Me too.”

“Leave around ten?” Willie asks.

They nod. Alex heads for the shower, and Alex and Willie head towards the living room – to do god only knows what. Luke heads to his room, with intentions to straighten out all the clothes that are strewn everywhere, maybe make his bed, and put on a fresh set of clothes.

He’s never been super neat, but there gets a point where there’s too much mess, where it’s overwhelming and the space becomes loud, too much, overbearing. It’s easily fixed with the folding and putting away of a few piles of clothes, but he relishes this feeling – the relative peace, the quiet, the working with his hands, it provides him with much needed evidence of what he does – no matter how small or how feeble - it makes a difference.

Even if it's just folding and putting away clothes.

Even if it's plucking the strings of his guitar absentmindedly.

Even if it’s scribbling words in the corners of coffee-stained napkins.

* * *

He’s finishes his task, then dons a nicer tee shirt and a pair of jeans, fixes the rings on his fingers, and does his best to make his hair look less like a rat’s nest than it currently does. He’s not sure how effective his efforts are, as he’s beckoned to the kitchen, where Alex and Willie are saying that they have time for one quick drink before they hit the bar. Willie’s making some kind of bourbon lemonade drink that he found in one of his mother’s cookbooks that he claims is to die for, and Luke’s never been one to refuse.

He notices his phone at the corner of the counter, and pockets it, not wanting to forget it for a second time today.

Alex emerges from the hallway, looking tidy and put together, and Luke watches him saunter over to Willie, resting his head on his shoulder as he asks his boyfriend what he’s making.

Willie tries to explain; he’s cut off by Reggie connecting his phone to a speaker, and the conversation is drowned out by the sound of country music – none that Luke recognizes. Reggie knows all the words though, and Luke almost laughs as he does something akin to the Cotton Eye Joe back over to the counter, where the drinks currently sit.

Willie and Alex hand Luke and Reggie the copper cups, and they toast – and _God_ – Willie was right – these _are_ dangerous.

“What’s in this again?” Reggie asks?

“Two shots bourbon, lemonade, and then a shot of Tuaca on the top –"

“Tuaca?”

“Brandy,” Supplies Alex, happily, before taking another sip.

“These _fuck_ , dude,” Luke adds. Willie smiles, looking proud, as Alex gives him a kiss on the cheek.

By the time their ride arrives, Luke’s relaxed and feeling a nice warmth in his chest. All his friends are happy, and laughing at something Alex’s said to the driver, and it’s nice. He’s just about forgot about what a train wreck his day’s been thus far.

Obviously, that feeling isn’t going to last long, because, _hello,_ even when his life is good, he’s still a train wreck of a human being.

He orders a Jack and coke at the bar, then makes his way to the nearby high-top table that Alex, Willie, and Reggie are crowding around. From here, they get an excellent view of where the karaoke performances are being held.

There’s a nice crowd already, and a couple performances as the bar fills up. They’re all talking about nonsense, and some sense. Luke’s mother comes up at one point, but is quickly replaced with Alex talking about how his sister got caught sneaking out of the house or something last weekend trying to get to a party – it’s all very high school, very hilarious.

It’s at this point where someone starts to sing an off key rendition of Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody,” Reggie sings along, and starts dancing with Alex. Luke and Willie share a glance, and immediately burst into laughter. He takes a sip of his drink, looks up at the drunk girl on stage, who despite being rather flat, seems to be having the time of her life. His heart swells – he loves watching how music makes people feel, even if they aren’t in a famous band, or musically inclined at all. It's about the feeling, about the understanding, about feeling connected to other people.

He smiles.

The next singer is a little worse, but just as enthusiastic. The trend continues. Luke gets another round of drinks for the table, and on his way back from the bar, he swears he sees Flynn in the opposite corner.

But this place doesn’t really seem like her kind of scene; she’s, well, she’s not posh, but she definitely doesn’t seem like the kind of person to frequent a not-so-little hole in the wall place like this. He blinks – it’s gotta be some other girl who has the same braids as Flynn, the same kind sense of style.

He makes it back to the table as the guy singing “Wonderwall” concludes, Luke hands the drinks out to their respective takers.

“When are you singing?” Willie nudges Alex, who glares in return.

“I think the real question is _what_ are you singing. We all know you’re going to be up there at some point.”

“My money’s on Toxic,” Willie says.

“No, he sang that last time,” Luke responds, “I’m going with Womanizer.”

“If You Seek Amy, for me.”

“You’re all wrong,” Alex grumbles.

“Only time will tell!”

And then suddenly – the sound of guitar fills the room – Alex’s eyes light up, and Reggie meets his eyes.

Luke’s a little confused. The melody is familiar, but nothing he knows by heart.

“ _Dolly!”_ Alex says, excitedly.

Their eyes turn towards the corner where the singers are – in the light of the screen stands the most beautiful girl Luke’s seen in his life – long, curly hair shrouds her, the light bounces through it like a halo. Her skin’s a pretty shade of brown, like the fresh leaves on a beautiful autumn day; her eyes are bright, deep – like smokey quartz. Her face is alight – clearly happy, and she holds herself with a grace and poise that commands the attention of the room, like he can’t look away from her and her pretty blush blue dress. He gulps, and somehow Luke knows – even before she opens her mouth, that she’s going to be good.

“ _Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene – I’m begging of you, please don’t take my man.”_

His jaw drops: Alex, Reggie, and Wille say something – they must recognize her from somewhere. Luke’s not paying attention; he can’t do anything but stare.

She sounds beautiful – like a siren; melodic, dangerous, as the first verse goes on, he can feel her pull him to the edge, feel how she’s pulling him under, like he’s drowning in her, completely transfixed by the lulls, the melodies – the way her voice compliments the music.

Time slows – and for a moment, it’s just Luke, the music, and this girl.

“ _You could have your choice of men, but I could never love again; he’s the only one for me, Jolene.”_

She drags him deeper – and he doesn’t mind at all – watching her sing, the way she smiles when she looks out to the crowd to find what must be her friend. He can hear the mirth in her voice, the way she feels the music in her bones. He doesn’t know her, but he knows this is a kindred spirit.

“ _Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, please don’t take him even though you can. Jolene, Jolene –"_

The last Jolene ends on a pretty high note, and she kills it. Truly – the bar erupts in applause, genuine – not just for curtesy. Luke lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and then – she looks at him. It’s just her eyes on his own, and he can feel his skin flush. He offers a shy smile, and she offers him a bright one back, along with a cheeky little wave, and, _Jesus Christ,_ he thinks she’s done it – she’s killed him.

Except she hasn’t. Yet.

Because not two minutes later, Flynn marches up their table, and, lo and behold – here comes the girl in all her glory.

He takes a big sip of his drink. Reggie gives him a knowing look.

“Hey, guys,” Flynn says in that cool-girl manner of hers that’s just so hard to emulate.

“Hey,” the girl next to her says.

“Julie!” Alex greets – she smiles, and Luke melts, noticing the gap in her teeth and the joy on her face.

And then it registers – _Julie._ Flynn’s Julie. That left today because of him.

_Fuck._

Flynn, Alex and Reggie are talking, while Luke thinks of about a million reasons why this interaction could goes south, and he ends up looking like an asshole yet again – except:

“You must be Luke,” Julie says, sliding up next to him at the table, “I’m really sorry about earlier – it’s been,” she huffs, “a rough day, to say the least.”

He’s stunned, really.

“Uh,” he says stupidly, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

“It’s just, my dad’s getting remarried, and I’m who he calls when he needs to bitch about shit, and then my little brother’s working on college apps, and he also calls me to bitch about shit; my favorite coffee place was out of almond milk today, and then I spilled my coffee all over my new blouse, and then, _god,_ something else happened, and it all just kind of culminated with your friends joking about you blowing the meeting off – which, I know you didn’t, but you know when everything is going south and your like ‘this might as well happen?’”

“Yeah,” he says, “I’ve been having a day like that too, actually.”

She smiles, and he starts talking about his awful day, including the call with his mother, the traffic, forgetting his phone, and how he ran into some girl while he was sprinting to the studio–

“Oh my god,” she laughs, “that was me. I was literally such a bitch –"

“I mean, I did run into you, and you were having a pretty shitty day.”

“Very true.”

They start talking about music; how they both grew up with it but in different ways. It’s nice, he thinks to have a common thread.

“So,” she asks, “I hear you’re not a huge country fan.”

Luke groans, rubbing his hand down his face, taking special care to notice the way she notices the rings on his fingers, “The only reason I’m doing this is because Reggie beat me in an arm-wrestling match.”

“Oh, I heard, " she pauses, “Reggie said you’re scared –"

“I’m not scared,” he states – not really sure that he wants to get into a conversation about why he doesn’t fuck with country music with a country music star in the middle of a karaoke bar, but deciding to go for it anyway, “It’s just... we have our sound – like when people think Sunset Curve, they think ‘Now or Never,’ you know? Like a 90s pop punk sound – it’s not beer and trucks and girls and what not, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it. But also – sometimes being too comfortable in one place hinders you, you know? And also, you’ve got country all wrong, dude. Like… _so wrong_.”

“ _Country girl, shake it for me, girl –"_ He starts, Julie laughs, her voice like a bell.

“Have you actually listened to country? Like old country? Like Dolly, or Loretta Lynn, or Johnny Cash?”

“No,” he says earnestly.

“Well, you should. You’re a song writer, right?” She asks; he nods, “Then you’ll appreciate these songs. It’s about story telling – like, with Jolene, right? There’s a clear narrative going on, and like yeah – it’s first person, and there’s metaphor and imagery and all that bullshit, but it works. It’s a story, more than anything. That’s what it is to me, country music – it’s story telling. This new wave hypo-patriotic shit isn’t country. It’s stuff like ’16 Tons,’ or ‘I Fall to Pieces,’ – there’s heart in that.”

He listens and thinks it over; he believes her – and if she’s right, then maybe this country thing is something he can get behind.

“I could dig that.”

She smiles, looking him in the eyes gently. He melts – fully, completely.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

For a second they just stare at each other. It’s new – and a little strange, but a good strange. A strange that Luke is going to account to being a little bit drunk, because that’s less scary than thinking about how pretty and nice and fucking talented this girl is.

“Hand me your phone,” she says, sweetly. He does. She opens it, and types a few things in, then hands it back to him, and takes out her own phone. She types something in.

He gets a notification –

_It’s Julie – will b sending my quintessential country playlist later._

“You’ve got research to do, Luke.” She says cheekily, as she’s beckoned over to where Flynn stands with Willie and Reggie.

Luke watches her, still under whatever spell she’s placed on him.

Alex comes over, placing his hand on Luke’s shoulder.

“Oh, Luke,” he says fondly, on his way up the karaoke set, “You’re a goner.”

Luke sighs.

_Fuck._

It’s at that moment that the opening notes of “Womanizer” start blasting thought the speakers. He perks up immediately – meeting Reggie’s and Willie’s gaze –

“ _God damn it_ ,” Reggie moans.

* * *

Julie texts him her country playlist the next day – titled _Be The Cowboy,_ which Luke begrudgingly admits to liking.

He scrambles to find his headphones, placed somewhere in the clutter that is his bedside table. He lies on his bed, looking at the ceiling, and presses play – it starts with “My Tennessee Mountain Home;” it’s pretty, he thinks.

Dolly’s voice starts off soft, gentle. The guitar comes in, quiet at first, then builds – the base comes in as her voice grows and grows – there’s the signature little guitar twang thrown in, but it’s not overbearing like Luke would have thought.

It’s a really beautiful song – truly. And what makes it, he thinks, are the images – the words paint a beautiful, haunting picture of sweet childhood memories – of happy people, of simpler times – when cares weren’t at the forefront of anyone’s mind.

He sends Julie a text, updating her.

She seems happy to hear that he likes it – granted it’s only been one song so far.

More songs play, and as he listens to each one, he updates Julie, who provides him with tidbits of background information – like how “Sixteen Tons” is about miners being exploited by the coal companies they worked for. He’ll say something dumb, in comparison, like how he liked the guitar arrangement in “Blue Moon of Kentucky,” or how he thinks that “It Wasn’t God who Made Honky Tonk Angels” is a funky title for a song.

She shoots back with: _Wait till u get to “You’re the Reason Our Kids Are Ugly.”_

_That can’t be real._

It’s very real.

He hates that he likes it.

He tells Julie as much – she laughs, or at least he thinks she does. But, it’s nice to be able to listen, and talk about it with someone who obviously cares and know what she’s talking about. Doing something like this with Reggie would have been fine, but Reggie would have been expecting something – like a negative reaction, and then would have looked for a way to tease Luke, and Luke would have abandoned all intentions of listening honestly for a chance to showcase his stubborn pride.

Like, he would have never listened to “You’re the Reason Our Kids Are Ugly” with Reggie. One look at the title would have had him laughing, and well, it _did_ have him laughing with Julie, but there’s a hidden depth to the music, he supposes – one he wouldn’t have picked up on – wouldn’t have _wanted_ to pick up on if it wasn’t for her.

Which is ridiculous, as they literally met yesterday.

But, he does care. And maybe Alex was right, maybe this could be a really good learning experience.

* * *

He flies through the music she sent him, and as the lull of the Dolly song he started with begins again, he tugs the headphones out of his ears, and heads for the kitchen in search of something to eat.

He makes it to the fridge, and just stares into it for a second, thinking about what he can eat without making a mess of the kitchen (he can hear his mother in his head, telling him to think about these things _before_ opening the fridge and letting all the cold air out).

He spots his left-over Chinese and decides that's the least messy thing he can think of at the moment – it’s hard to go wrong with a microwave.

The timer’s set for two minutes, and he starts humming to himself to pass the time. Reggie walks in with a hand full of cups, that were surely strewn across his room – he’s very good at using them and then forgetting about them.

It happens.

He gives Luke a knowing look:

“Oh, shut up,” Luke says, rolling his eyes.

“Whatever, man.” Reggie starts humming along, recognizing the tune.

They’re interrupted by the _ding_ of the microwave, and Luke nearly burns himself on the hot dish, but it’s fine; he sits down at the table as Reggie washes his cups in the sink.

It’s mundane – it’s a slice of life, normal, relatable.

He grabs a napkin, and a pen, and starts scribbling down words in-between shoving forkfuls of day-old Chinese in his mouth.

* * *

Julie comes by the studio on Tuesday, a re-do of the session that was supposed to happen on Friday - it goes well – really well. There’s talk about sound, direction – and Luke (who had transcribed what he wrote on the napkin into his, well, not journal, but journal equivalent, and did his best to make it legible) shows off what he's written so far.

Alex complains. Luke throws his pencil at him.

Julie reads it over, and offers some suggestions – and even makes some additions of her own, and Luke has fallen prey all over again, watching her work – hair sitting atop her head, glasses on the bridge of her nose, like she’s a librarian in one of those old films his dad loves to watch, her tongue juts out of the corner of her mouth while she’s concentrating, and, yeah – maybe he feels kind of stupid considering they only just met, but she’s crazy pretty, crazy talented, and crazy nice.

(She leaves earlier than the rest of them, that day – for about an hour after she’s left, the guy spend time gushing about her – and maybe waste time by pulling up some of her music and listening to it –

Luke’s not surprised at all by how good she is; a pretty hybrid of country-pop-rock melodies dance delicately with her voice – all power, all business.

And if he keeps singing her songs around the apartment – that’s between him and “Drunk Girls Don’t Cry.”)

* * *

The day in the studio turns into days, and the days turn to weeks – when they're not in the studio, working out the kinks in their tentative demos, Luke’s got his nose buried in his notebook all over town. He’s trying to focus more on the simple, on the ordinary for this – not that grand, sweeping emotional revelations and metaphors aren’t important, but he likes the way the music has a focus, a main narrative. He likes the storytelling, the description – you can get the sentiment from the care you put into describing the situation.

Sometimes Julie texts him, and they’ll meet up at a café, or she’ll invite him to hers, and vice versa – and they’ll sit and write together. He’s never had someone be so on his level before – she balances everything out; he’ll want more of a thundering guitar, and she’ll be the voice of reason – it’s too much rock, she’ll say – and while he’s heavy-headed and still set in his ways (even if he is trying – okay? He trying), he admits she’s right – he’s allowed to be a little more gentle with the sound without losing the impact.

Sometimes she’ll put a little too much emphasis on the vocal arrangement of her songs, and he tells her, yeah – he gets it – but, it’s too much; let the instruments work with her; they're together, not separate. He tries to get her to add a little more of a rock influence to her stuff too – it works, sometimes.

He hasn’t had this much fun writing in a long time – it’s different. It’s a challenge, but it’s a good challenge, a challenge that you know will make you better – it's everything your middle school math teacher wanted you to think algebra was, but better, because he’s sitting here, on the paper covered floor of his sitting room, with Julie Molina – up and coming country music star, and he feels more connected to music now, at twenty-three, than he felt at seventeen.

It’s fucking crazy.

It’s late now – and they’ve since tabled writing in favor of talking nonsense – which, you know – usually Luke is a work-horse, but he likes talking to Julie, getting to know her. She takes a sip of her coffee – which they _definitely_ did not spike with Bailey’s – and is laughing at Luke’s description of the chronological development of “Home is Where My Horse Is.”

“Even before we were, like a band – we had 'Home is Where My Horse Is.'”

“The title –" she snorts, placing her mug on the table with a gentle clunk, “is everything."

“It is a pretty good title.”

“Not good – but definitely country. I fuck with it.”

“Has he sung it for you yet?”

“Um, _no_?”

“Oh my god, wait; I think I have a recording of it somewhere.”

She scoots over next to him, back against the same couch he’s leaning against, shoulders touching. He pretends his skin doesn’t burn when she touches him; her head leans across his chest to get a better look at his phone screen as he plays the video of a drunken Reggie singing.

“Why is it good, though,” she asks incredulously, “Like.. this is good – wait –” She reaches across his body to grab the pencil and paper that he’s placed by his side. He does not think about the way her hair smells like vanilla. She sits back up, “Play that part again,” He obliges, and she writes a couple things down – he hears the quiet clanging of the mental bracelets on her wrist as she hastily scribbles on the page, hears her steady, quiet breaths, and the sounds of thought.

“Okay. Hit play again.”

And he does, and the cycle continues. At one point, he gets up to refill their drinks – Julie asks for Bailey's on the rocks, and he’s not gonna say no to that. He comes back, to their spot on the floor, and finds her watching the phone intently, pencil shoved behind her ear.

“How’s it going?”

“Here’s what I got so far – I think if you added a little harmony part here, and maybe sped it up a little bit –"

She pauses, then sings what she’s talking about, “And then maybe added a bit of base here or something –"

It’s at that moment where Reggie walks in the door, followed by Alex and Willie –

“Is that ‘Home is Where My Horse Is?’ _Are you working on ‘Home is Where my Horse Is?_ ’” he asks, like a puppy – excited and nervous.

“Maybe,” Julie teases – Reggie yells, throwing the keys at Alex, which he barely catches, and then runs over to sit next to Julie, and she explains all of her proposed edits. Luke takes another sip of his drink, watching Reggie’s excitement turn into honest contemplation and beneficial discussion. Julie scribbles some things out, and adds some more –

There’s more singing, and Alex and Willie join them a few minutes later – all watching Julie and Reggie’s discussion, and occasionally adding their own input.

Luke could sit like this forever – next to Julie, shoulder to shoulder, listening to all his friends all work on music. It’s nice. He tries to bite back a smile, but fails.

“You guys should record this,” Julie says, earnestly.

Reggie grins, looking up at Alex and Luke as if to ask for permission. Luke’s pretty sure he’d do anything Julie suggested at this point so he offers an encouraging smile back, and Alex offers and enthusiastic, “Lets do it!”

Reggie stands up, abruptly – and shouts, raising a fist to the ceiling. Julie laughs, bright and piercing, and Luke cant help but join in. Reggie scrambles to the freezer – surely taking some sort of alcohol out of there, and returns back with a bunch of shot glasses.

 _What the hell,_ Luke thinks – it’s not every day they decide they're going to record “Home is Where My Horse Is.”

Luke’s not too excited about the Costco brand tequila, but it is what it is. Reggie fills the glasses a little too much, and there’s some spillage onto the coffee table. He sets the bottle down, then Luke stands up, and offers his hand to Julie. She takes it, and they shuffle over to grab their glasses.

They toast – the alcohol bites on its way down, and he surely makes a face, but he’s not alone – Julie’s face twists in displeasure after she swallows, and Luke’s quick to grab her glass of Bailey’s (along with his own.) It’s probably not the best chaser, but it works.

She takes the glass, smiling gently, and Luke tries to avoid thinking about the way the pads of his fingers met hers.

“Thanks,” she says, as Reggie starts yelling _yee haw_ , and turns on the speaker, Green Day on the radio. She takes a sip, then pushes a stray hair behind her ear, her brown eyes not leaving his own. If his eyes flick down to her lips, she doesn’t seem to notice it.

“You’re welcome,” he says, quietly. Ignoring the noise around him.

He thinks he wants to kiss her.

He doesn’t have time to think about it; Willie comes by, grabbing Julie's hand and twirling her across the floor; her head tilts back and the room is met with the onslaught of her laughter, and then her voice, as she sings along.

* * *

(They record the song and send the finished product to Flynn – who seems truly impressed. She talks industry for a moment, discusses a single release schedule, and what not – Luke doesn’t really pay attention – Alex fills him in later.

He’s more interested in what Julie has to think – he meets up with her for lunch the next day and plays her the finished product –

“Luke,” she says from across the table, one white, wired headphone still in her ear, “This is really fucking good –"

She goes into it more deeply, and he’s listening, but also lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding – he was worried about her reception. He never gets worried about reception – and he’s really really happy that she likes it; her opinion matters to him in a way that opinions haven’t mattered before.

He tries not to dwell on it.)

* * *

They go to the karaoke bar again, to celebrate.

Julie’s trying to get someone to sing a duet with her, and Luke would, _really_ – but karaoke isn't really his scene – he likes watching people in this setting – he does enough preforming already.

She almost gets him – one more minute with those eyes, and he would have broken free of the mast and followed her anywhere – but Reggie jumps in, takes his place. Julie pouts, and for a second, Luke swears he sees the ghost of disappointment on her face, but it’s soon washed away as Reggie comes up next to her, and they discuss their song plans.

He talks with Willie for a little bit, then meanders up to the bar, ordering himself another drink – he’s just given the bartender his card, when he hears the opening notes to “Promiscuous” fill the air –

And then there’s Reggie’s voice – light, airy comical, “ _How you doin’, young lady? That feeling that you giving really drives me crazy –"_

“ _Oh my god_ ,” he says, turning his attention to where Julie and Reggie seem to be having the time of their lives.

“ _You wanna get in my world, get lost in it? Boy, I’m tired of runnin’; let’s walk for a minute.”_

He just kind of stands there, stupidly, at the bar, watching Reggie, in all his skinny-jeaned, flanneled, leather jacketed glory, and Julie, in her pretty, strappy camo dress and big, stompy boots that he’d her her walk all over him in – sing this stupid fucking song.

“ _Roses are red, some diamonds are blue; chivalry is dead, but you’re still kind of cute,”_ she sings sweetly, to Reggie, then looks out – finds him in the crowd and has the audacity to wink at him, does a little hair flip then walks across the little stage area as Reggie sings the next line.

He’s watching, and all he can think about is how it should be him up there, singing with her. She wanted him up there and he said no, and now Reggie’s in his place – singing, albeit having the time of his life, but _god._ It should be him – he wants it to be him.

It’s worse, as she keeps meeting his eyes, throwing little smirks and shimmies his way – she’s laughing, obviously teasing him lightheartedly and playing off Reggie’s silly energy, but still –

She’s killing him.

The only solace he gets is knowing that he’d absolutely be a corpse right now if he was up there singing this with her – there’s no way that he’d be able to sing and not overthink every possible word, every interaction – he’d die, simply put. He would die and it would be Julie Molina’s fault.

He wouldn’t even be mad.

He makes it back over to the table where Alex and Willie are singing along as Julie sings the last line of the song. Luke tries not to look miserable when she gives Reggie a hug and they do a silly little bow as the applause reigns on. He does not pout, instead, takes a very large sip of his drink and ignores the look Alex is throwing his way.

Reggie and Julie come over to the table laughing, and Luke does his best to match the mood. It’s obviously not working, as Reggie makes a face at him, then turns to Alex, who wiggles his eyebrows in Reggie’s direction, whatever the fuck that means.

Julie seems unfazed and slips into the spot next to him.

“We used to warm up to that song in dance class, when I was little,” she says, “Not sure if it was appropriate, but it was definitely formative for eight-year-old Julie.”

It’s hard to stay in whatever mood he’s in when she’s right here, next to him – so he lets it rest, but doesn’t forget about it. So, he laughs, an easy going thing, let’s her reminisce about Miss Tammy and her childhood friends, and that one time they did a routine to a song from Cats –

And in turn, he talks about Y2K songs that were formative for him – lots of emo bands; she weasels out of him that Hayley Williams and Gerard Way contributed to his sexual awakening – which makes her laugh – and then mentions Kesha – because Alex would literally, never shut up about her.

She keeps asking about his obvious emo phase, and he staunchly refuses to divulge that information, and then Alex comes waltzing over, and he can’t say no to anyone – let alone Julie – so now she’s gushing, and laughing about fledgling emo Luke. 

If it wasn’t Julie, then he might be more embarrassed.

But it _is_ Julie, and watching her look at old pictures of him – even if she is teasing, makes his chest feel light, feel soft.

He doesn’t think about it.

But he wants to.

* * *

It’s not that Luke decides to write a song because of Julie and Reggie’s karaoke duet, but inspiration definitely springs from there.

Less from the lyrics of what they sang, but more about how he was feeling –

He finally decided to think about it – to think about how he feels about Julie.

(He’s pretty sure he’s in love with her, but he’s also an idiot and decides he might just be horny.

Judging by the way his heart rings when she walks in the room, or looks at him, or so much as breathes in his direction, he’s not _just horny_.)

And like, yeah – maybe they're friends now, along with co-workers, and maybe she’s fit herself right inside his chest and planted herself right into the center of his friend group – and maybe he spends more time writing with her and texting her than he’s ever spent with people outside his bandmates –

And maybe she’s the most talented musician he’s ever met –

But he doesn’t want to ruin anything with her.

He’s overthinking it, surely. Obviously. The tension between them has always been palpable – Alex can attest to that, Reggie can attest to that, Willie can and so can Flynn – so maybe it wouldn’t be so much as a change, but an addition.

Maybe it’s like their journey into country music – it’s different, but a good different. A way to grow and learn and really be better.

With Julie, he feels better - she makes him want to be better.

So, he focuses on that feeling – the start, the building, what can come to be.

* * *

He writes this one fast, but there’s something off about it – like it’s missing something important, but he can't figure out what. And, as nervous as he is about Julie figuring out he wrote a fucking song about her, he knows she’ll be able to figure out what’s missing.

She always does.

He texts her – not expecting a response, as it’s nearing one in the morning, but she’s awake and he’s delirious and just enough in love with her to listen when she tells him to come over to work on it; he’s quiet and feels like a kid again as he quietly exits his apartment, making his escape.

His drive is nearly silent, peaceful and gives him an opportunity to get extraordinarily nervous, then calm again.

By the time she lets him up to her place, he’s about to scream from nervousness, or from the way she looks – hair everywhere, glasses perched on her nose, framing bright, happy eyes, and a smile that could sink ships.

She’s in her pajamas – neon pink shorts and a pale, yellow sweatshirt that’s just a little too big so that the sleeves cover the tips of her fingers.

“So,” she says, leading him to the couch, “whatcha got?”

He takes out his paper, folded up hastily in his pocket, nervously smooths it out, then hands it to Julie.

She reads it, sings a little to herself as she goes along, then reads it over again, tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth in concentration.

“It’s missing something,” he says, starting the obvious, “I just cant figure out what.”

“Yeah,” she says, absentmindedly, reading over the words again.

“It’s like. The first verse is fine – it’s the second and the second chorus that are driving me –"

“It should be a duet.”

“ _What_?”

“A duet. It needs another person,” she explains, “like it’s very conversational – and it works on its own, but you’re right; it’s missing something. Like. Verse two – different voice, and then have them come together on the chorus.”

“Yeah…” he says slowly, warming up to the idea, “yeah, I get it.”

“Here – sing the chorus – I’ll take the harmony.”

So he starts: “ _When the bones are good, the rest don’t matter,”_ Julie joins in _, “Yeah, the paint could peel, the glass could shatter,”_ for a moment it’s just his voice, radiating through her apartment, then she joins again, “ _’cause you and I remain the same.”_

And yeah, she’s right – even with just this tiny part, the duet adds the oomph that was lacking before – but also, he’s not singing this song with anyone but her.

“I think you could cool it with the guitar too, since we’re adding the extra vocals – like make it more mellow, put more focus on the conversation.”

She stands up, quietly rushing across the room to grab the guitar sitting in the corner, grabs it, then rushes back, “maybe something more accousticy? Like this?”

She plays, and he takes the paper with the song, and jots down some notes, adds the parts where the other voice should be –

She goes on for a little while, and they have some discourse regarding their ideas – and then he’s pretty much satisfied with what they’ve done to alter it, and the conversation lulls a little.

“I think you should sing this with me.”

Her face lights up, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

For a moment, she looks at him, and he looks back at her, then she looks down at her hands, which sit in her lap, fingers tangled in each other, “I’d like that.”

* * *

Luke calls Flynn the next day to tell her of the plans after he’s talked it over with the band; she’s ecstatic and can’t wait to hear the song. They record it within the week – it’s the easiest and most challenging thing Luke’s ever done – but the guys are down and adding their own suggestions and ideas during the recording process. It's not easy, but he’s not complaining. The more they work on this, the more he gets to sing with Julie, to watch her in her element. He’s stuck, fixated on her like she’s the north star, and she’s leading him somewhere, anywhere – he really doesn’t care.

They have one take during the middle of the day – and Luke knows that it’s the one. He looks at Julie after from across the booth, and he knows that she feels it too – that this is it. They finish and listen to the playback, and really – it’s perfect. Everything’s there.

This is _the one_ – the guys share a look, satisfied grins on their faces, and he looks and Julie and feels nothing but pride.

They wrap up the day in a giddy haze of a job well done; Alex files out first, then Reggie runs – he’s got a date or something, Luke’s not really sure; he’s talking really fast, and Luke’s head can only comprehend so many things before it short circuits. Julie’s got her stuff together and is kind of idling near the door as Luke gathers his things.

She’s waiting for him – he’s not sure what to do with that information.

“You wanna grab coffee or something?” she asks, when he nears where she’s standing.

“Coffee sounds amazing,” he says, grinning. Her cheeks redden, a pretty dark shade.

He does not think about it.

(Yes he does.)

She took the train to the studio, so Luke offers to give her a ride. Traffic, as usual, is a nightmare, but she’s got the volume turned up loud and is singing along, purposefully bad, to the Taylor Swift song on the radio. She’s distracting – he cant keep his eyes on the road, and his head is filled only with Julie – her pretty blue sweater, the way her brows furrow when she’s singing, the way that even when she purposefully isn’t trying, she’s still the biggest star in the world.

He almost leans over to kiss her at a red light. He thinks she notices – he hears the way her breath hitches when the song fades into the quiet, notices the way her eyes turn big as a Harry Styles song begins, notices the way she looks at his lips, quickly before the car behind them honks their horn, signaling the light changed.

He is thinking about it.

He’s glad when they find parking and head in towards the coffee shop, locking the car, running a hand through his hair and letting out a sigh.

Julie beats him in the store – seemingly unaware of his inner turmoil, and clearly not feeling any of her own.

Or maybe he’s dense – Alex has told him that he’s not super perceptive when it comes to feelings and whatever.

But this is Julie – it’s different.

She orders an iced chai latte, and gets him his usual – hot, black coffee with a splash of cream – he’s caught off guard, but not off guard enough to let her pay – in an ungraceful fashion he lunges, handing his card to the girl behind the counter. She gives him a sour look, but processes the transaction.

Julie looks aggravated, but amused.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, well, you killed it today, so it’s the least I could do,” he counters, as they walk over to wait for their orders.

“ _We_ killed it, stupid.”

“Yeah well, you made the track – I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Shut up,” she says, playfully shoving his shoulder. He grins, knowing she’s joking, but he can tell she’s pleased. They call her name, and they grab their order, then make their way to a table and sit down; Luke grabs two sugar packets on his way.

“I mean it, you know,” he says, stirring in the sugar, watching the steam rise over his white, paper cup, “We couldn’t have done that song without you –"

“You totally could have –"

“We could have, yeah, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as good. You made it good – with your writing, and ideas and voice – you made it better; you make _me_ better.”

He’s not sure where this is all coming from, but he’s not sorry for saying it, especially when she takes one of his hands and places her own on top of it. He looks up from what he’s doing, and meets her gaze – kind, sweet Julie – beautiful, crazy, talented Julie – looks up at him from behind a curtain of curls. He gulps.

“Thank you,” she says, “You make me better too.”

He smiles, feels like his heart might burst, but he doesn’t mind.

They talk, lighthearted, nonsense.

She doesn’t let go of his hand.

* * *

Even when they aren’t explicitly working together, Julie always seems to be around. There are more moments where Luke is sure he’s going to kiss her, and he’s sure she _knows_ he’s going to kiss her, and then he just, never does. There’s always something, or someone – like a phone call from his mother that he has to take, or Alex walking back into the studio because he forgot his jacket - that interrupts.

It’s all stupid shit, and it’s making Luke lose his goddamn mind.

He might be stupid, and blind and inept, but he’s pretty sure he knows when Alex, Reggie, and Willie collectively make fun of both him _and_ Julie about being emotionally constipated, there’s something going on – when he notices Julie blushing, and looking just as frustrated as he is after the millionth interruption, he’s pretty sure what he’s feeling is a two-way thing.

Which, is terrifying, but he tries not to think about it.

But anyway – when Julie calls him asking for help with a song on a Saturday evening, he rushes out the door; Alex calls out to him from the couch, where he’s watching New Girl with Willie. Luke isn't listening. 

He’s at her place in an embarrassingly short amount of time, and is pleased that she greets him with a surprised hello when he knocks on her door.

He follows her in, taking his seat on the couch, as she stands in front of him, hands on hips.

“Okay – so it’s mostly done, It can probably be tweaked a little, but I just wanted to see what you think.”

“Yeah – hit me.”

She plops herself down next to him on the couch, pulling her phone out, kicking her feet up on the table.

“Just, gimme one second,” she says, pulling up the voice memo.

She turns the volume up then holds the phone out so that the sound doesn’t get muffled by anything.

It’s a pretty piano number – he likes the chord progression and the little vocal run the beginning – then the words. It’s epistolary kind of thing, in the form of the voicemail, which he thinks is pretty neat.

Then, from the phone, her voice rings, “ _I got a bed that’s too big without you. I got a heart that don’t beat without you. Get so jealous when you ain’t by my side; I know it's selfish, but I need you tonight.”_

His mouth runs dry.

Oh.

_Oh._

Julie doesn’t seem to notice that he’s casually losing his shit – she’s humming along, eyes closed and swaying gently to the music, her shoulder casually brushing his.

The chorus comes, and it’s sweeping, and beautiful – _god,_ her voice is so fucking killer – and then she hits him with the whammy – spells it out in bright, flashing red letters so that even a blind man could see it.

“ _Come put your things down; I’ll order take out. No more to say now – baby, just make out with me. Baby, just make out with me.”_

The song keeps going, following the same train of thought, and Luke really, truly thinks he’s going to die. The song ends, and she sits up a little straighter. He’s having trouble formulating thoughts in his head other than _Kiss Julie – NOW!!!,_ so when she asks him what he thinks, he panics –

He grabs her face – as gently as he can manage, given the circumstance, and kisses her.

“Mmm,” she moans, moving herself so she’s straddling his hips, holding his jaw tenderly with her hands. She kisses him back with such a soft ferocity, he feels like this is it – this is where he drowns fully in her, where she kills him and feasts upon his flesh like a true siren. He doesn’t even mind – letting out a little noise as she bites down on his bottom lip – his hand wanders, drawing her closer to him, and her arms move from his face to around his neck, fingers playing idly with the little wisps of hair at the back of his neck. She adjusts herself in his lap, and bites down a little harder this time –

“ _Julie_ ,” he groans, and she laughs – she _laughs,_ moving her face so it fits in the crook of his neck, placing a fluttering kiss there before sitting up straight, looking him right in the eyes – flushed, and as beautiful as the first time he saw her.

“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that.”

He grins, cheekily, “Yeah. And you love it.”

She doesn’t dignify him with a response – just goes in for another kiss. He doesn’t mind – kissing Julie feels right – and time slows – it’s just Luke and Julie for the time being – their kisses grow less frenzied, more slow, thoughtful – like they know this is the beginning, like they know for each of of these slow, sweet kisses there’ll be a million more.

He likes the way he can feel her smile, the way she tastes like cherry lip-gloss, the way her hands feel against his face, on the back of his neck, up his arms, on his chest.

He’s not sure how long they sit there for – but he’s surprised when she pulls back abruptly.

“Did you like it, though?” She asks, he’s not really sure what he’s talking about – because _yeah,_ he’s liking it. “The _song_ , moron.”

“Whoever the guy is, he's a lucky bastard,” she punches him in the arm.

“Seriously,” she whines, and he knows she’s joking, but he also knows she wants his approval – he feels the same way about what she thinks.

“I love it,” he says, quietly, with thoughtful inflection.

Her smile grows bright, and she kisses him gently on the corner of his mouth, before wrapping her arms around him and yet again, burying her face into his neck.

He holds her tight, not wanting to let go any time soon.

* * *

(Their EP charts well – not only does the new sound give them that extra oomph that Flynn was telling them about, but Julie’s feature and the news that’s she and Luke are dating give Sunset Curve and Julie Molina the publicity they never knew they needed.

There are more evenings at the karaoke bar, watching Alex cover Britney, laughing at Reggie try to find someone to sing with him - even Luke gets up to sing sometimes, coerced by Julie to join her up in the lights.

It’s fun – putting on a show –

Even if it isn’t a show.

Even if he’s absolutely in love with her and means every word he’s half-heartedly singing.

It’s not a show for her either, as they finish, met with applause and she drags him back to the table, hands intertwined. She leans against his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around her, giving her a quick kiss on the head.

“I can’t believe you got him to sing Dolly,” Alex says, referring to their recent performance of “Islands in The Stream.”

“What can I say,” he jokes, “I’m a changed man.”

“I liked the Luke who hated country better,” Reggie says, he’s met with unreceptive faces, “Just sayin’!”

“I don’t know; I kinda like this Luke,” Julie says, quietly.

“I think you’re biased, babe.”

“I know.”

She states, like it’s a simple fact. She looks up at him, all self-assured and absolutely lovely. He wants to kiss her – so he does. She’s smiling, and he’s smiling, and he feels so stupid – kissing the girl he loves in a karaoke bar –

“You’re ridiculous,” she says, fondly.

“And you love it.”

“Yeah,” Julie says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, “I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are the bees knees!!! 
> 
> references -  
> \- the bourbon drink recipie comes from the NFL Gameday cookbook, and literally. it's to die for. so good. the drink of the summer.  
> \- julie's [be the cowboy mix ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6kcDxEQ6J5HtJG4kSgLLUJ?si=Uyweu6WlTrmgo__bUbbBMw)  
> \- Drunk Girls Don't Cry, by Maren Morris  
> \- The Bones, by Maren Morris ft. Hozier. 
> 
> feel free to check out my [julie/luke playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3IQgrfeABUa6IvCNW6kSKV?si=U-IhtKbNS_2xDeO8Q5Ru4w) or my [ sunset curve playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4nExo08c4UIAmwFwiUnHCT?si=0fFzA0mHSnOqO_Vgqendmw)!


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